


In the Pale Moonlight

by stirlingphoenix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Established Relationship, Galra Reverse Bang 2018, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 11:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stirlingphoenix/pseuds/stirlingphoenix
Summary: For one, brief second, Keith considers giving up as the golden glow of his right eye stares him down, threatening to tear him apart in the best of ways while the softer, magenta hue of his left holds nothing but tender adoration—he wants everything those eyes promise, he deserves it, but he can’t take it, not just yet. He needs to draw this out, if only for a bit longer.Perhaps it’s already too late. By the time Keith regains his senses, he’s coming closer, reaching out to him with a clawed hand, his razor-sharp nails ghosting over Keith’s cheek but still not touching him, as if true contact is a reward he hasn’t quite earned yet. In spite of his best efforts to maintain some semblance of composure, Keith can’t help the soft sound he will forever deny as a whimper that escapes his lips as the tip of his chaser’s nose traces along the shell of his ear.“Run.” The whisper is all it takes to set Keith back into motion. He doesn’t think about it, his body just moves, turning him back around and forcing one foot in front of the other and beginning the chase all over again.





	In the Pale Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Galra Reverse Bang, and inspired by a wonderful illustration by the amazing [Akira](https://akira-ni-nekora.tumblr.com/), which can be found [here](https://akira-ni-nekora.tumblr.com/post/178557151176/my-first-piece-for-the-galrareversebang-ive)!

The light of the full moon peeking in through the trees above serves as Keith’s only source of light as he weaves his way through the forest, sprinting as fast as his legs will carry him while remaining diligent enough to avoid sudden dips in the uneven terrain that might cause him to lose his footing, and evade the treacherous branches he could easily snag his clothing on—anything that could potentially hinder his movement and leave him vulnerable.

Keith’s long since lost track of how long he’s been on the run, the duration doesn’t matter. There’s no length of time or set distance he can travel before he can declare himself as safe, not with a pursuer who never quits. He has to keep going, a second’s delay could spell defeat, and he’s never been one to surrender so easily. Even if he loses tonight, Keith won’t go down without a fight. But then again, Keith’s determination, his will, the heart and soul he pours into each step he takes— _he_ adores it all.

The thought brings a smile to his face as he continues his mad dash through the woods, his heart beating so hard it feels like it could burst from his chest at any second as the sound pounds through his ears. That’s one of the more terrifying aspects, knowing that if he can hear his heart racing, then so can he. It’s something Keith has no control over, and gives him an edge Keith would be unwilling to provide if he had the choice. It’s not as if the hunter needs their prey’s cooperation, so when Keith’s biology so willingly acts against his best interests, he feels betrayed, like the odds have been stacked against him along.

Perhaps that’s why he enjoys this so much. For Keith, nothing compares to the thrill of struggling for victory. He takes no pleasure in having anything handed to him, and even with his attacker so close that he can feel bright heterochromatic eyes boring into his very soul and threatening to tear him apart, Keith wouldn’t have the situation any other way.

As if the universe seeks to see him ruined, Keith is forced to an abrupt halt once he happens upon an open meadow, where he’s fully exposed and left with several choices, all equally undesirable. Turning back, while an option in the strictest sense of the definition, is the equivalent of walking into the lion’s den, and while going forward seems like the sensible decision, that entails crossing the field without any sort of protection or cover, and even if he makes it across, the path back into the woods bifurcates into two different directions, each one as daunting as the last.

All five of his senses go on high alert when the acute sound of a twig being crushed under heavy footsteps pierces through the silence, and makes it all too apparent the last grain of sand in the hourglass counting down the seconds to his demise has fallen, effectively leaving him with no other option than to fight his way out.

“Getting kinda late out, isn't it?” His smooth voice strikes fear into his heart and makes Keith want to relent and give up any chance of escape he might still have all at once. Feeling his presence only a few footsteps behind him, Keith’s body goes numb as he approaches, as if mere proximity is all it takes to freeze in place. “What’s a sweet one like you doing out here all alone after dark?”

“What makes you think I’m so sweet?” Keith counters, willing himself to stay calm when he feels the other’s warm breath against the nape of his neck, an impossible feat when his heart is already racing at a speed that might kill a normal human, but he’s not ‘normal’ by any means, and now his pulse remains frantic and unhinged out of sheer excitement.

“Your scent,” is his only reply before closing the last speck of distance between them, but staying just shy of touching him. The hair on the back of Keith’s neck stands on end as he feels his nose get a little too close, inhaling deeply and breathing in his scent, as if Keith’s his own personal drug, and one hit is all it takes to get him the high he craves.

“So easily fooled.” Believing him to be preoccupied for the time being, Keith takes the opportunity to whip around, simultaneously pulling away and coming face-to-face with the creature who’s been tracking him all night. Keith has every intention of lashing out, or doing something that might enable his escape, but as his gaze settles on him, Keith loses sight of where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing, and instead finds himself mesmerized with the beauty towering over him. He’s so close that his height easily blocks out the moonlight above, casting a shadow upon Keith and looking down at him, his eyes glistening with mirth and the thrill of catching his prey—or so he thinks. For one, brief second, Keith considers giving up as the golden glow of his right eye stares him down, threatening to tear him apart in the best of ways while the softer, magenta hue of his left holds nothing but tender adoration—he wants everything those eyes promise, he deserves it, but he can’t take it, not just yet. He needs to draw this out, if only for a bit longer.

Perhaps it’s already too late. By the time Keith regains his senses, he’s coming closer, reaching out to him with a clawed hand, his razor-sharp nails ghosting over Keith’s cheek but still not touching him, as if true contact is a reward he hasn’t quite earned. In spite of his best efforts to maintain some semblance of composure, Keith can’t help the soft sound he will forever deny as a whimper that escapes his lips as the tip of his chaser’s nose traces along the shell of his ear.

“Run.” The whisper is all it takes to set Keith back into motion. He doesn’t think about it, his body just moves, turning him back around and forcing one foot in front of the other and beginning the chase all over again. This time the fork in the pat doesn’t faze him in the slightest—Keith finds himself choosing the one he happened to be closer to, which by a stroke of luck, also seems to be the trail with the least amount obstacles.

Again, time loses all relevance as Keith continues to run for his life. There’s no thought given to where he might be going or better yet, how he might escape his pursuer—he just runs as fast and as far away as his legs will carry him.

The next several moments are a complete blur to Keith. A sense of familiarity pricks at his consciousness, as if he’s been through all of this more than once before. His body moves on autopilot, his feet knowing exactly where to go as he continues down the beaten trail, eventually coming upon another clearing—only this time Keith finds an abandoned building up ahead—a barn, to be precise. The same instincts that have pushed him this far continue to carry him forward and into the shed. Somehow, he knows the door is unlocked and how it slides open at the side, but always gets caught on the track after opening it until the gap is just big enough for him to slip through.

Hell-bent on breaking away, Keith nearly forgets to slam the door shut behind him (as if a wooden door could ever stop him) before continuing his trek through the darkness. By some stroke of luck, his attention directs itself towards a beam of moonlight pouring in between the broken floorboards up above, illuminating a rather precarious-looking set of stairs. One wrong step could spell his demise, but Keith doesn't think twice before bolting up the staircase, taking two steps at a time and avoiding the warped and rotted wooden steps with practiced ease. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith sees the error in his ways, he knows isolating himself to the second floor of a decrepit building isn’t the smartest thing to do nor the optimal choice, but it’s what he’s always done. He keeps going once his feet hit the top step, dashing across the rickety floor until a sudden crash from below brings him to a complete stop.

Being on the upper level does absolutely nothing to muffle the god-awful screech of the barn door being ripped off its hinges, and with the door gone, the wind raging just outside is amplified tenfold. As if the bone-chilling wind isn't enough of a warning, the ominous groan of rickety floorboards creaking under the weight of harsh footsteps striding across the first floor confirms what he already knows.

He's here, and he won't stop until he gets what he wants. That same ear-splitting screech continues up the staircase in a slow, steady march, counting down each agonizing second to his final breath.

His frantic eyes dart about the open space, pupils constricting to the point where the white in his eyes overwhelms the black when he's left with one horrifying conclusion—he’s out in the open with nowhere left to hide.

A mane of hair darker than the night just before dawn combed back behind velvet ears comes into view as the man who's been chasing after him all this time ascends to the top of the staircase, his bright eyes boring straight into his very soul and keeping Keith frozen where he stands. This time, his inevitable defeat sinks its claws deep within his flesh, as if to give him a taste of what’s to come while he comes closer, each step he takes makes the old floorboards groan under his weight, making Keith wonder if they will soon find themselves on the ground level once more, however that prospect doesn’t give him any renewed hope of escape.

“What's wrong?" The mock concern lacing his voice fails to overshadow the jovial tone he uses. “Got nowhere else to run?"

“Looks that way,” Keith admits, never once taking his eyes off his captor as he comes to an abrupt, yet deliberate stop right in front of him, already standing far too close for comfort.

“You ready to give in?” Again, he said reaches out to Keith, two clawed fingers gently brush his bangs out of his eyes while a thumb caresses his cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles into his flushed skin.

Keith almost submits to his touch, almost. Before a mind-numbing, yet unquestionably false sense of security takes hold and renders him even more vulnerable than he already is, he reaches out, wrapping calloused fingers around his attacker’s wrist in a harsh, unforgiving grip before pushing him away with enough force behind his move to send him back a few steps—not that any amount of distance can save him now.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Keith replies with a coy grin. The hand he'd used to shove the man who had chased him all this way falls to his hip, where his fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, allowing the thin fabric to ride up just enough to show off a scant patch of skin. His eyes remain trained on him during the entire display, as if inviting his inevitable attack.

“There isn’t any.” A brief nod in agreement is the only warning Keith receives before he's on him once more. Time seems to lose all meaning as his razor-sharp nails ghost over clammy Keith’s skin. Two deft fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, establishing a firm grip which serves as Keith's only warning before he takes advantage of his hold and none-too-gently tosses Keith across the room like he's little more than a bundle of hay. His back hits the panel of broken boards that's meant to constitute as a wall with a resounding 'thud’, the old, rotted-through wood groans under his weight. The blow has his head spinning, and before Keith knows what's happening, he finds himself trapped between the wall and his powerful, unyielding form, and if Keith’s being completely honest with himself, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Time’s up, Keith.” His attacker says his name with a purr that’s almost too gentle for Keith’s liking. It leaves an eerie sense of peace lingering in the air, and under any other circumstance, he surely would have fallen for it.

But then again, whether he falls for it makes no difference, not when the hunter has him exactly where he wants him to be—backed against a wall, completely exposed and within his grasp, making escape all but impossible. Staring deep into a pair of fiery eyes that wish to destroy him, to rip each cry of agonizing ecstasy from his throat one by one, Keith finally comes to the one, inevitable conclusion he’s prolonged for far too long—he’s lost.

“Antok.” Along with his surrender, Keith grants the man who’s spent the entire night chasing him down like it’s the sole purpose of his existence, his name, as if acknowledging him personally is the first of many rewards he’s earned himself with Keith’s capture.

His, Antok’s, right ear seems to twitch at the sound of his name passing through Keith’s lips, causing the faintest of smiles to spread across his face. It’s the one and only break Keith allows himself—he can’t help it, not when the subtle motion is one of the many characteristics he adores about Antok.

The tender moment ends just as quickly as it began; Antok’s sharp claws digging into his hips forces Keith to face reality as Antok stares down at him, his gaze filled with a promise that lays out every wicked intention Antok has in store for him. Keith isn’t sure what terrifies him more, his immediate future, or the fact that every intricate detail of Antok’s plan, while left unsaid, is as vivid as if he’d heard the specifics spoken out loud, and turns him on more than anything else.

“Say it again,” Antok lets out with a hum, a grin playing upon his lips as he leans in closer, brushing the tip of his nose against Keith’s forehead. The gesture, as simple as it is, elicits another full-body tremble from within him and acts as another hint that just barely gives Keith a taste of the real Antok, the man that exists beneath the surface of the predator that seeks to ruin him. A small part of him wants nothing more than to latch onto that small sliver of affection, but he doesn’t—not yet. That will come soon enough, he just needs to exert a bit of patience, or at least pretend to.

“Bite me." It's only after the retort rolls off his tongue that Keith remembers his quip is exactly the sort of thing Antok will take as an invitation, and as a devilish glimmer flashes through Antok's eyes, Keith knows that’s exactly what he’s asking for.

The mischievous smirk plastered all over Antok’s face serves as Keith’s one and only warning before Antok’s hands move up his body until his claws burrow themselves into the tender flesh of his shoulder blades and pin his body flush against the cold, unforgiving ground, effectively putting Keith in his place with one true display of dominance. The same, wicked smile that shows off Antok’s fangs sends a sharp pang of fear down through Keith’s spine and straight to his cock, causing it to twitch with interest as Antok finally makes good on his threat. He starts out agonizingly slow, nibbling along Keith’s chin and up his jawline and teasing Keith in the worst way imaginable. Antok no longer allows him the freedom to struggle or fight his ministrations, not when his death grip renders Keith completely immobile and powerless.

Keith puts everything he has into maintaining a small sliver of composure. He’s already lost control, his right to move, and with Antok’s gentle nipping driving him closer to the brink of insanity with each caress of sharp canines against his overstimulated flesh, Keith can’t even begin to think about protesting. At this point, the very least he can do is keep a shred of dignity in not giving into Antok’s touch, not so easily, and definitely not this soon. If he can manage that, he’ll earn himself a single win tonight—with Antok’s victory being all but certain from the very beginning, declaring one or two battles for himself is all Keith can hope for.

He tries, he tries so damn hard, but ultimately his efforts prove as ineffective as ever when faced with Antok’s supreme touch. A note of pure, unabashed horror strikes the core of Keith’s heart when a soft, yet unmistakable whimper slips past his lips, serving as his body’s ultimate betrayal. His lips instinctively seal shut, as if preventing another misstep might somehow erase his prior mistake, which is wishful thinking on his part.

His breathing hitches as again, he notes the subtle spasm of Antok’s ear, making it painfully obvious that not only has he heard, but he’s also gotten the exact reaction he’d been waiting for. As if to capitalize on his triumph, Antok graces Keith with an answer to his inaudible prayers and brings an end to his incessant teasing. His reply manifests in the form of sharp fangs sinking into the soft, tender skin of his earlobe, effortlessly cutting into the supple flesh. The metallic stench of his own blood invades Keith’s nostrils, eliciting another, needier moan from the bottom of his throat.

This time, Keith can’t help himself, he sings for Antok, his voice clear and free as he conveys his deepest desires through a string of unintelligible cries of pleasure. Keith’s so far gone that he doesn’t realize Antok’s released his hold on him until the soft, soothing sensation he gets from running his fingers through Antok’s mane gives him a single shred of clarity.

“Christ," Antok lets out in a breathy moan, “if I'd thought you’d make this easy for me," his lips curl into a wicked grin, “could've saved myself the trouble.”

The mocking lilt in Antok's voice sends a spark of resistance bubbling up through his chest, inspiring him to break away from Antok and begin their fight anew. The outcome will be in Antok’s favor, but that doesn’t mean Keith’s down for the count just yet, in fact, it provokes a new desire within him—the need to challenge, to spar, to make Antok earn the right to relish in Keith’s ultimate defeat. He doesn’t think about his actions as his fingers establish a firm, unyielding grasp in Antok’s hair, shamelessly pulling on the short strands and using his hold as leverage to pull Antok close and smash his lips against his own in a bruising, violent kiss. The unnerving sensation of teeth scraping against teeth only spurs Keith forward; just as Keith expects, Antok gives back as good as he gets, ensuring that Keith’s lips are left bruised and bloodied in his wake. Tasting his own blood gives Keith the edge he needs as he finally manages to plunge his teeth into Antok’s bottom lip, finally earning himself a mouthful of Antok’s blood. With his goal accomplished, Keith pulls back, allowing himself the smallest of grins as a pair of crazed eyes stare back on him, fury, coupled with the promise of revenge raging through them.

Wiping that self-gratified smirk off Antok's handsome face brings Keith more satisfaction than a man in his position has any right to, but right now, it’s all Keith has. Without hesitation, Keith uses every last ounce of strength in his possession and latches onto Antok's shoulders, gracelessly throwing him to the side and giving himself a second to breathe. Keith finishes his efforts in turning the tables by taking his newfound momentum and rolling over to straddle Antok's hips in what he ultimately knows will be a vain attempt at taking control.

“That easy enough for you?" Keith asks in spite of himself, only to have his newly acquired confidence stripped away as the arrogant, predatory smile that haunts the darkest depths of his soul restores itself in full on Antok’s face.

“Just how I like it,” is Antok’s reply, his fangs gleaming ominously in the moonlight that seeps through the cracks in the walls. “Too bad it won't do you any good.”

And just like that, Antok proves Keith right with one effortless motion—throwing Keith on his back before taking his hands, holding them together by his wrists, and forcing his arms above his head. No matter how hard Keith struggles, Antok maintains his firm, unrelenting grip, which only seems tighten with each new bid for freedom Keith pursues.

Whether or not Keith has it in him to take another stab at a new getaway, he won’t find out. By the time anything resembling a plan takes root within his mind and begins to grow into something that might stand a chance at throwing Antok off guard, the soft ‘click’ of metal cuffs locking together rings through his ears, bringing him to the stark realization that Antok’s stolen his last opportunity.

“Let's see you wriggle your way out of that, hm?" The distinct note of cockiness lacing Antok’s voice incites Keith’s most pitiful retaliation yet, prompting him to pull at the handcuffs, as if the desire to make Antok rue his own arrogance could ever provide him with enough strength to destroy his metal bonds.

By now, the pursuit of escape is pointless, it’s the truth Keith now has no choice but to swallow, as difficult as that may be. With a heavy sigh, Keith acknowledges his loss, this time for good.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that,” Antok purrs, sending yet another chill down Keith’s spine. A quiet hum passes through his lips as Antok leans in, getting dangerously close until his nose ghosts across Keith’s cheek. “Fun’s not over yet,” he snickers, delivering a quick nip to Keith’s blood-stained lips, “for the both of us.”

And just like that, Antok’s entire demeanor changes before Keith can blink. The banter is thrown to the wayside and replaced by Antok’s growling and one or two whimpers from Keith that manage to slip past tightly sealed lips. A deep, menacing snarl that sounds more dangerous than before is the last thing Keith’s frazzled mind processes before Antok’s voracious hands are all over him, feeling every individual curve of his body, his jagged nails further blemishing his abused flesh until those same claws dig deeper, effortlessly tearing into his clothes like they’re nothing more than scraps of paper. With his clothes in shreds, the frigid night air rushes over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shiver that has nothing to do with Antok’s thorough ministrations.

Fortunately, the sudden chill is short-lasting. By pressing his own naked form flush against Keith, Antok gives him the warmth he craves and reignites his desire all over again. As if to capitalize on his achievement, or perhaps simply to make up for lost time, Antok presents Keith with two fingers, looking down at him with expectancy.

“Suck 'em.” There's a certain edge to Antok's voice, one that tells Keith he'd better listen without trying anything 'cute’. Normally, Keith would disregard Antok's command and find out what Antok might let him get away with, but not tonight. It’s not the menacing tone with which Antok speaks, but the ravenous hunger that threatens to consume Keith before Antok gets the chance—it howls for instant satisfaction, a request Keith can’t refuse.

His tongue rolls along the calloused flesh of Antok’s fingers, thoroughly coating each finger with his own saliva until the tip of his tongue grazes a sharp claw, where he realizes how easy it would be for Antok to slice him open at any given moment. It wouldn't have to be intentional, Keith could add the slightest bit of pressure against the edge and earn himself another taste of his own blood, but Antok, knowing him only all too well, doesn't allow him the chance. As if reading his mind, Antok none-too-gently retracts his fingers, allowing Keith a second to marvel at how the two thick digits glisten with spit before they disappear from his line of view, the handcuffs preventing his wandering gaze from following the downward path they take, not that he doesn't already know what's coming.

The soft 'snap’ of a plastic cap popping open, coupled with the unmistakable sound of foil being torn apart, brings Keith back to the here and now, where he realizes that it's finally happening. Everything he's done, the running, the hiding, it's all led up to this one moment.

It's a ritual he'll never grow weary of, but no amount of repetition ever truly prepares him for the chilly sensation of a finger coated with a generous amount of lubricant probing at his entrance. A shiver runs up his spine, causing his body to go rigid for the briefest of seconds before Keith wills himself to relax into the touch he's all too familiar with, giving Antok the only form of permission he needs to move forward. With a deep breath, Keith spreads his legs apart and hands himself over to Antok's tender touch. It's a supreme contrast to the rough, aggressive treatment bestowed upon him only a few moments ago, but Keith's come to accept that no matter the play, preparation is something Antok doesn't take lightly.

“Antok.” His voice is so pitiful that he hardly recognizes it as his own, but he couldn’t care less, not when a simple brush of Antok’s finger against his prostate has Keith writhing for more, making it painfully clear that anything less than Antok’s cock will no longer bring him the relief he so desperately needs.

Keith sends out a silent prayer of thanks to the cosmos when Antok answers his plea with a brief nod, before pulling out of Keith completely, showing him that Antok agrees they've drawn this out long enough—it’s time.

Antok makes quick work of pulling the condom out of the package he'd ripped open earlier and unrolling the ribbed latex over his dripping erection. Through the darkness, Keith manages to catch a glimpse of the pulsating vein on the underside of Antok's cock, that one small glance is all it takes to exacerbate the flames of lust that already burn like wildfire in the pit of Keith's stomach, and sends the last shred of sanity Keith has clung to like a lifeline to Hell, along with the rest of his resolve and dignity. He has no need for such things here, not when they're so easily replaced by Antok's hard length pressing up against his greedy hole, promising to fulfill every desire he has and make him forget about the trivial losses he's incurred along the way. Cobalt blue meets the perfect combination of fiery gold and tender lilac in a silent exchange that only he and Antok could ever understand, quelling any lingering sense of doubt that exists between them before Antok pushes into Keith with one, powerful thrust, splitting Keith open farther than his fingers ever could and throwing him into a new plane of existence where bliss and anguish are one and the same.

“Shit," Antok curses under his breath, but his voice is just loud enough for Keith to hear. Despite Antok's thorough treatment, Keith remains tight around Antok's dick, forcing them both to take a step back and adhere to a brief, yet necessary adjustment period.

Being the first to adapt is a race Keith wins without fail every time, and it serves as one the few points of pride Keith has left in this situation, a fact he takes full advantage of by clamping his inner muscles down on Antok, eliciting a less than dignified groan as his reward. Antok's length, nor the preparation he gives will ever make a difference when being filled beyond what he's physically capable of is what really drives Keith mad.

“What?" A grin erring on the side of overconfidence forms upon his lips as he rolls his hips against Antok, as if he could possibly get Antok deeper than he already is. “Gonna make me fuck myself?"

All it takes is one, well-placed thrust that hits Keith in the spot that has his entire body trembling with raw, urgent need to remind Keith of who really holds the ace in their little game.

“Not when I can do it better,” is Antok's simple reply, his voice dripping with an air of pride they both know he's entitled to.

Antok's declaration leaves Keith at a loss for words—it’s difficult to argue when Antok so matter-of-factly lays the truth out for him. With his throat dry and unable to utter a sound, Keith is rendered powerless in every sense of the word, unable to do anything except wait for Antok to exercise the control he's earned once and for all over him.

Supreme impatience born of intense desire makes a few seconds seem like an eternity, but are long last, Antok delivers on his promise in full, pulling out until only the head of his cock remains inside of Keith's wanting form before slamming back inside without preamble. Keith hardly gets a second to react before Antok's repeating that exact motion backed with the same amount raw strength, driving into Keith's pliant body over and over again, failing to hide the fact that the last of his willpower has disappeared along with Keith's, leaving them both chasing after an elusive pleasure that steadily grows closer with each vicious assault against Keith's prostate.

“Antok..." This time, Keith fails to register how pathetic his voice sounds, filled with desperation and lust, proving how unconditionally devoted he is in his wish to bend to Antok's every whim like some kind sex-crazed fiend. He's close, well beyond the point of going back, and his sole desire becomes bringing Antok to the same level of need that veers on the edge of agony.

By some miracle, Keith doesn't need to regain enough coherence and put together the right string of words that might convince Antok to give him that final push, not when Antok's already right there toeing that treacherous edge of euphoria with him. It doesn't take long; he tightens himself around Antok at the exact moment he slams against Keith's prostate, sending them both into a downward spiral of unadulterated bliss. The deep, guttural moan that escapes Antok's throat, in tandem with the way his throbbing cock spasms deep within Keith's overheated body signals his release, while at the same moment Keith's own climax washes over him, causing his entire being to shake violently against Antok, who immediately tightens his hold on him, as if to soothe his nerves and instill a blissful peace within his soul that only the afterglow of their shared pleasure can provide.

After a few moments, the soft ‘click’ of a key turning in its lock gives Keith the freedom he needs to slip free of his cuffs and bring his arms up and around Antok's neck, drawing him in for a tight embrace. The sound of ragged breathing fills the air as Keith clings to Antok like he might disappear unless he maintains the steadfast grip he has on him, but luckily, Antok doesn't seem to mind. The beginnings of a smile form upon Keith's lips when he hears a quiet, content purr from Antok as his arms wrap themselves around Keith's slender form in turn and adjust their position until they've rolled over on their sides, all while allowing them to continue facing each other. Antok slips out of him in the process, but Keith's too far gone to care as he curls into Antok, his body fitting against Antok’s like a puzzle piece.

Without warning, a distinct warmth spreads across his face, beginning with the tender flesh of his lips. The soothing touch almost verges on the apologetic side, as if to make up for the rough treatment he’d received earlier, while the same set of hands that had been only too eager to scratch, bruise, and wreck him a few minutes ago now seek to rectify their wrongs and take away the damage they’ve inflicted.

“That feels nice,” Keith lets out, punctuating his statement with a sigh of contentment. Peeling one eye open, Keith catches a flash of pink just before Antok's tongue contacts his cheek, giving his skin the softest of kitten licks before continuing in its current mission to cover Keith's face. With a smile that's just as sweet playing upon his lips, a wandering hand trails along Antok's muscled form, coming up and over his arm until Keith's able to wrap his slender fingers around Antok's and pull his large hand close to his heart.

"Was that too much?” The note of concern riddling Antok's voice catches Keith off guard at first. He isn’t sure where Antok’s worry stems from or why he might second guess himself, but it only takes a second for Keith to leap into action and put an end the sudden bout of distress looming over Antok like a dark, foreboding fog.

"Are you kidding me?” Keith shakes his head in the negative before reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Antok's ear, earning himself a quiet purr from Antok when his fingers caress his silken fur. "You were amazing.”

This time, Keith doesn't have to hide the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth when Antok's ears perk up at his praise. He won’t ever understand how Antok can be this all-powerful hunter with a penchant for dominating him, striking fear into the deepest depths of his soul while simultaneously turning him on, only to become the universe’s best cuddler immediately after satisfying their carnal urges, but then again, he doesn’t need an explanation. Each side Antok presents him with, regardless of how contradicting they might be to each other, has its own special place within Keith’s heart—he adores Antok for everything he is, and he wouldn’t change him for the world.

“You're sure?" In spite of Keith's reassurance, Antok still seems doubtful in some respect, as if he questions one specific part of their play that keeps replaying itself in his mind, but he's unsure of how to handle it. “You know I don't—"

Instead of letting him finish, Keith leans forward and captures Antok's lips in the gentlest kiss of the night, a sharp contrast to their rough, borderline violent behavior from moments ago. Keith can't say with absolute certainty what Antok might have been about to say, but there's nothing he could bring up that Keith doesn't already know the answer to.

“Perfect," Keith whispers against Antok's lips, nuzzling their noses together, relishing in the cool texture of Antok’s nose against his.

“Yes," Antok replies with a smile, returning Keith’s kiss, “you are.”

“I—” The rest of Keith’s response dies on the tip of the tongue once his mind makes sense of Antok’s apt reply. “That's—" _not fair_ , he wants to say, that having the tables turned on him is nothing short of a grave injustice he won't stand for—but he doesn't. The unmistakable warmth spreading across his cheeks goes completely unnoticed as the beginnings of a frown that most certainly isn't a pout form upon his lips, much to Antok's delight.

“You…?" Antok supplies, prompting Keith to finish his thoughts with an additional nudge of his nose.

“Shut up,” Keith snaps back without any actual bite in his tone. A gust of wind has him shivering uncontrollably; his body rolls closer to Antok, satisfying his instinctual need for warmth and proving the insincerity in his retort all at the same time.

“Yeah, okay." The teasing lilt in Antok's voice doesn't escape him, but this time Keith lets it slide. He's far too preoccupied with his snuggling efforts to bother with anything else—a fact which becomes more evident as he scoots closer into Antok, wrapping his arms around him before Antok follows suit a second later.

“Should we head back?” Antok asks after a while, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them and ensuring that Keith won't nod off on him—it’s not the most effective strategy in Keith's opinion, but he knows Antok can't help the fact Keith finds his voice soothing enough to drift off to.

“Probably.” Keith nods his head in agreement, but makes no move to pull away from Antok’s supreme warmth. He would say that he hasn’t the strength, that it’s all Antok’s fault, that he worked him over to the point of rendering him immobile, but that would all be a lie. Keith could move, he’s more than capable of pulling himself up and piecing together some sort of cover that will last until they get home, but right now, leaving the old barn and venturing back into the cold are the least of his concerns.

Outside, the wind continues to roar through the night, beating against the deteriorating walls that do little to shield them from the brunt of nature's attack, but when Keith's like this, huddled close with Antok, cozy and beyond satisfied, the freezing air seems worlds away. It's just the two of them together, exactly as it should be.

 


End file.
